


Otherwise Engaged

by KareliaSweet



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Epistolary, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, Sexual Content, Wedding, proposal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-24 02:45:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6138670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KareliaSweet/pseuds/KareliaSweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I have been thinking,” Damen said cautiously, “that perhaps it is time to marry.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LazyBaker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyBaker/gifts).



> I tore through the Captive Prince Trilogy this weekend and fell in love so hard and fast that I couldn't stop my fingers from writing this.

“I have been thinking,” Damen said cautiously, “that perhaps it is time to marry.”

Laurent, pliant in his arms after a lazy bout of lovemaking, suddenly stiffened.

Damen cursed his eagerness. A mere three weeks of peace between their kingdoms now united was not enough time to undo the hurt that Laurent had endured. How foolish of him. How boyish and lovesick and careless to disturb the fragile intimacy they’d been working so hard to cultivate.

Beside him, pale back pressed against his chest, Laurent was silent. Dreadfully, painfully silent. After a long and considerate pause, he swallowed tightly and nodded.

“Yes,” Laurent said, “I think that would be wise.”

He could not have said it more dispassionately if he had tried. Damen felt his stomach sink as if lined with a lead weight.

“Oh,” was all he could manage to say, and, “Good.”

Laurent disentangled himself from the circle of Damen’s arms and pushed himself up onto an elbow. His golden hair was disheveled, betraying the notes of passion strung between them not moments earlier, but his eyes were terribly cold.

“Have you thought of who you might select as a bride?” Laurent asked. “Vannis could make an excellent ally, and if not there are plenty of Vaskian warriors you may wish to choose from.” He tilted his head, tone clinical. “One might already be swollen with your child.”

Damen’s mouth hung open in shock. He tried to work his jaw but sound remained elusive. The most intelligent and wise man he had ever encountered had just proven himself to be gloriously, giddily stupid. Laurent continued to rattle off names of minor nobilities that might prove political gain in the more neutral territories. He was halfway through explaining that he did not expect Damen’s marriage bed to interrupt their “arrangement” when Damen felt his blood begin to surge and he forced out an interruption of his own.

“No!” he said forcefully, and then a little quieter, “Laurent. _No_.”

Peeved at being so cut off, Laurent fixed him with a glass-eyed stare.

“I’m sorry,” he said with a voice that could cut diamonds, “did you already have someone in mind?”

Damen reached out to touch Laurent’s shoulder, felt the muscles freeze under his hand.

“Yes,” Damen said tenderly, “You.”

Beneath his fingers, Laurent began to tremble. His glacial eyes suddenly flooded with a roiling of emotions that was almost too much for Damen to bear at once.

“Me?” Laurent asked. His voice was heartbreakingly small. “You wish to marry – _me_?”

Damen pulled himself up to sit, casting the sheets over the both of them for a sliver of decorum in the face of solemnity.

He took one of Laurent’s hand between his. His pulse trembled like a tiny bird’s.

“Of course you,” Damen said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. To him, of course, it was.

“Laurent,” he said, infinitely patient, infinitely kind, “do you not know that I love you?”

The words chipped at a heretofore unknown barrier in Laurent’s heart and his lip began to tremble. His eyes pooled  with crystalline tears.

“I-,” Laurent began, but was unable to finish. For once, the King of Vere was rendered entirely speechless.

Knowing instinctively that there were no further words for this moment, Damen gathered Laurent in his arms, holding him to the steadfast wall of his chest. Laurent made a small wheezing sound, trying desperately to tie off this unwanted unspooling of his control.

His fingers clutched at the reassuring strength of Damen’s shoulders, twining up about his neck as Laurent buried his face in Damen’s throat. Damen felt the wetness there and said nothing.

Laurent sat cradled in his lap, shaking with tremors so slight they could barely be felt. Damen felt each of them like a pulse in his own heart.

“You love me,” Laurent whispered, soft enough that both could have ignored it if they chose. Damen nodded, kissed his temple.

“Yes,” he replied, “idiot.”

Laurent laughed at that, though the sound was jagged and hiccupped.

“You want to marry me?”

Damen smiled and tugged gently at Laurent’s neck so they could be face to face. Laurent kept his face hidden, stubborn to the last.

“Laurent,” he chided, pulling a little harder, “let me see you when I say this.”

Laurent shook his head insistently.

Damen sighed. “And what if I match you with tears of my own?”

At that, Laurent shifted a little, peeking tentatively from under Damen’s chin.

True to his word, Damen’s dark eyes were limned with wetness. Emboldened, Laurent drew back a little further, let Damen tuck a finger under his chin.

“You are a fool, King Laurent of Vere, to think I wish to spend my days tied to anyone but you.” A tear of his own swelled and broke free. Laurent was overcome with the urge to kiss it, but did not.

Damen smiled, cupped Laurent’s face in his hands.

“I love you,” he said again with forceful surety, “and you are a fool twice over not to know it. So I will ask you again, properly, since you _clearly_ did not catch my meaning before.”

Damen’s tone teased with such affection that Laurent could not help but curl his mouth in a smile. The resultant mixture of such with his tears caused an ungainly sob to break free, the sound entirely happy but also entirely embarrassing. He raised his fingers to his lips and Damen shook his head, ceasing the motion.

“Laurent,” he murmured, “my Laurent.”

The room was suddenly silent, everything still except Damen’s breath. Laurent’s own was held tight in his breast.

Damen looked at him, into every secretmost part of him, his gaze so wild and fierce with love that it sent quakes through them both.

“Will you consent to be my husband?”

He had barely finished the question before Laurent found himself declaring “Yes!” and then they were kissing, desperate and adoring, tears mingling freely. Damen tasted salt between their lips and in that moment thought he could not have tasted anything sweeter.

“My love,” Laurent sighed into his hair, the words muffled and nigh incoherent, but they rang against Damen’s ribs clear as a bell.

They clutched tightly together, chest to chest, heartbeats imprinting upon each other. Laurent wound his legs around Damen’s waist, not seeking carnality, only a further closeness, wanting nothing at all between them, ever again, for all of their days.

“Are you very sure?” Laurent said quietly, “What of your heirs?”

Damen paused, considering for a long moment. Then, emphatically, “Fuck my heirs.”

Laurent’s mouth split in a watery grin. “Now who is the fool?”

Damen kissed at the corner of his smile. “I believe we both are. Best to shore off our lots together before we are cast into the barrens for our folly.”

At this they both broke into peals of laughter, collapsing sideways to their bed in a tangle of limbs and poorly aimed kisses. Laurent pet his hands through the wilds of Damen’s hair, committing every strand of it and this moment to memory.

“I never thought myself to be married,” he admitted, “least of all for love.”

Damen smiled and nudged their noses together sweetly. “Isn’t it nice to be wrong for once?”

“Yes,” Laurent replied, eyes shining, “it is.”


	2. Chapter 2

In the early morning light, Laurent was lacing up his boots.

Damen shifted under the tangle of sheets, eyes adjusting to the streams of sunlight, body adjusting to the absence of warmth beside him. He could not see Laurent's face.

"Not this again," Damen said.

Laurent turned, revealing a wide smile brighter than the sunlight that bathed him.

"You're awake," he said, "Good morning."

Half dressed, he crawled over Damen in bed, knees rucking up the sheets.

"Have I told you," Laurent bestowed a smattering of kisses upon him, "how handsome," yet more kisses, "you are upon waking?"

Damen grasped at the fine ends of Laurent's hair.

"I thought you always found me handsome. Why are you dressed?"

Laurent paused in his kissing to sigh discontentedly, head bowed. "I leave for Arles this morning."

Damen wrinkled his brow in confusion. "But, why? We are newly engaged, surely -"

"Surely we should celebrate? Bask in the glow of our union and set out the banners? No," Laurent said firmly, "we need to act quickly and quietly."

He pushed himself off and returned to lacing his second boot. Damen rose to his knees behind Laurent's shoulder. His fingers hovered over Laurent's hips.

" _Quietly_?" he asked, and it was hard to keep the hurt from seeping into his voice. "Am I that shameful to you?"

Laurent threw the ends of his laces down immediately, turning to wrap his arms around Damen's waist. He looked up at him with such sweetness that it nearly toppled him.

"No," he swore, "never." Laurent's fingers traced up Damen's side and cupped his elbow, drawing Damen's hand to his face. "I am proud to be your lover," he said, "and your husband, also. I would announce my joy from the parapets if I could but _this_ ," Laurent leant his cheek into Damen's palm, "this has never been done before."

Damen shook his head. "Of course it has."

"No," Laurent said, "A King has never married a King before. Once word of this becomes public, it will send the dissenters into a frenzy. They will think us either weak milksops or tyrannical despots, or," he snorted mirthlessly, "or somehow both."

Damen had not thought of that. He had thought only of love. Laurent pressed a quick kiss to his stomach and then he was on his feet again.

"And so I am to Vere." Laurent gave the laces a final tug. "You will write to me. That's not a question," he said over his shoulder. "I will send for Charls, we will begin planning with those we trust. We will wait until the last possible second before the declarations are made - the morning of, if we can help it. The less time people have to assemble a riot in the streets, the better."

Damen hopped from the bed in an easy stride and caught Laurent against his chest, burying his nose in the soft curls at his neck.

"I will miss you," he said, "terribly."

Laurent sighed and let himself crumple back into Damen's arms.

"And I, you." He crooked his head to expose the elegant line of his throat, humming as Damen kissed a path down it.

"You will write," Laurent said again.

"I will write," Damen replied, his mouth pressed to Laurent's jaw, "I will yearn, I will ache, I will despair."

"Oh," Laurent said softly, and turned his head to let himself be devoured.

Damen's mouth was claiming his, his desperation braided equally with his passion. Laurent flung his arms around Damen's neck.

"Do you not have time," Damen murmured, "to let your near-husband properly see you off?"

Laurent smiled against his lips. "'See me off," he said, "is that what we're calling it now?"

But then he found himself flung to the bed, Damen crawling atop him, and there were very little words.

-x-

The first day without Laurent by his side seemed leeched of colour. The very ocean beneath them was a pallor-less gloomy smudge. Food and drink were tasteless, turning to chalk and ash in his mouth.

Damen's wound, so nearly healed, ached keenly. The fresh scar pulled bitterly with every step, as though every hoofbeat that took Laurent further away from him was stamping its imprint.

He visited Paschal for a salve. It didn't help.

All in all, it was a miserable day, Damen's only comfort the knowledge that when he returned to his bed the sheets would still smell of Laurent.

He ate little for supper, the gentle ribbing from Nikandros for being so lovesick falling on deaf ears. Makedon poured him a generous serving of griva and refused to leave the banquet hall until Damen downed the lot of it. Damen drank it in one swallow, accepting the hearty laugh and punch to the shoulder that came with it.

Makedon poured him another and he drank that one too. Reason cautioned him to set his hand over his cup after that, and he only stumbled slightly on the path back to his bedchamber.

Nikandros caught him by the arm in the torchlit hallway, a gentle concern writ on his features.

"He's only been gone since the morning," Nikandros said, "you can't live as a ghost every day he isn't here. You are kings now. There are important things you both must do."

Damen sighed and leaned against the unyielding stone behind him. "I asked him to be my husband," he said quietly.

Nikandros raised his brows in surprise. "Oh," he said simply, then, "he said no?"

"He said yes."

A laugh bubbled forth from Nikandros's throat. "Well then!" He clapped Damen on the shoulder. "Why are we not celebrating?"

Damen cast his eyes down the hallway. "Because," he whispered, "no one can know. Not yet."

Nikandros looked puzzled. "Well - you told _me_."

"That's because you are... _you_ ," Damen replied.

He pushed himself from the wall, dark eyes serious. "And besides," he said, "I want you to be my Groom's Honourman."

At that, Damen's mouth tugged up at one corner. Nikandros just stood there, unmoving. His face grew a little pale with shock.

"You - you would ask - you want _me_  to be your, I -" he swallowed thickly, "Damianos, you are my King."

Damen clasped Nikandros by the shoulders and pressed their foreheads together.

"I am your _friend_ ," he said, "and you are mine. My greatest and oldest friend. I can think of no other man worthy enough to stand at my side."

Nikandros exhaled sharply. "Damianos," Damen squinted fondly at him and Nikandros corrected himself. "Damen. I would be honoured, my friend."

"Good," Damen said, and pulled him into a sturdy embrace. For a long moment, the hall was quiet save for one small sniffle. When he pulled away, Nikandros wiped quickly at his face with the back of his hand.

"And now," Damen said, "I am retiring to my bedchamber, where I will allow myself to wallow in my sorrow for one evening. Tomorrow I will be your King, and you will be infinitely bored by how very kingly I will be."

Nikandros chuckled. "I dread it already."

Damen smiled warmly, wishing him a good night. Nikandros kept his face turned to the deeper shadows of the halls as he walked back to his room. Damen pretended not to notice.

Even his bed seemed dull and grey without Laurent there to spread his golden light on the pillows. Damen unpinned his chiton and tossed himself uncaringly atop the sheets, throwing an arm above his head and staring at the ceiling.

"Laurent," he whispered, "do you ache as much as I?"

He thrust one hand under the pillow and turned to his side, pressing his face into the softness and breathing in the last traces of Laurent. As he let the scent soak in, his fingers brushed against something beneath the pillow. He ran his fingers over its edges before sitting up with a start.

Folded neatly beneath the pillow, sealed with Veretian wax, was a letter, one word written upon it in elegantly tapered script.

_Damianos_.

Damen's breath caught in his throat. He opened it with careful fingers and let the words pour over him.

 

_Damen,_

_I write this from our bedside, watching you sleep peacefully and wishing I could join you in your dreams._

_Have I mentioned how handsome you are when you sleep?_

_I ride for Vere with your face behind my eyes, your kiss lingering on my lips, the remnants of your fingertips marked upon my skin like a brand. I dread my bed this evening, knowing how cold it will be without you._

_I write this freely because I won't be able to again. We must be careful in the words we use lest our letters are taken into the wrong hands. Know that if my next letter sounds cold, it is not for lack of feeling, but for the abundance of it. If all that is written on the page is dreary politics, be sure that the page beneath it will have been kissed by my lips a thousand times._

_Perhaps you will visit me in the coming weeks, as one dignitary must another, and we can discuss the minutiae of merging our kingdoms before the council. A united front. And once the discussions are done, you can retire to my bed, where words will become meaningless and I can feel you inside me once more._

_Have I told you how I love feeling you inside me? How each small touch from your hand sparks flame across my skin? You have awakened a creature of insatiate hunger, and the more I devour you the more I am starved._

_I could turn now and see your face - yes, there you are, my own - and yet turning back to the page I miss you already._

_I think I shall wear gold for our wedding._

_Have I told you that I cannot wait to become your husband?_

_Write to me. Even if it is only a single word, and I will know that you have pressed your page with kisses as surely as I have kissed mine._

_Soon, we will be together again. Soon, love._

_Yours,_

_Laurent_

 

-x-

Laurent set about asserting his rights within Arles with discipline and vigour. From the moment of his arrival, he did not stop working until the last candle of the day was extinguished. The next day was much the same, and the next after that, reorganizing the castle staff, listening with careful ears to those that wanted to be heard, listening even harder to those who wished to remain secreted in silence. Within a week he had rooted out the last of his uncle's spies and supporters, and Arles began to shine with the right of its true nobility once more.

He went about his days with the same glacial distance that had been expected of Veretian royalty, but the shine in his eyes was difficult to dim. If members of the court noted it, they said nothing,

He slept little, partly from the restlessness that came with setting things to rights, and partly because - as he had predicted- his bed was woefully cold without Damen's embrace to snare him warm.

After four days, a messenger arrived with a missive addressed to Laurent. He examined it carefully with a watchful eye, running his fingers over the indents of the Akielon seal. It appeared unbroken, the paper unmarked, but he waited until he was under the safe closeness of his bedside candle before he opened it.

 

_To His Royal Highness King Laurent of Vere,_

_This._

_Sincerely,_

_Most Exalted King Damianos of Akielos_

 

In the quiet of twilight, Laurent's heart skipped in his chest. And then he pressed the paper to his lips, absorbing the myriad kisses Damen had left for him to find.

**Author's Note:**

> This story will ~~probably~~ definitely continue. I have such plans for this wedding. Such plans.
> 
>  
> 
> [here I be on tumblr](http://lovecrimevariations.tumblr.com)


End file.
